


Hidden Meanings

by LunarExo



Series: Johndaveweek 2018 [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Director Dave, M/M, johndaveweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 13:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarExo/pseuds/LunarExo
Summary: John Egbert gives an unorthodox interview to Hollywood hotshot Dave Strider





	Hidden Meanings

“And, cut!” Dave dropped his megaphone onto his director’s chair, turning to point at the hunky, up and coming star he’d chosen to play Hella Jeff in this iteration of _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff: The Moive Expierence._ “You ain’t giving me enough _emotion_ here, come on, I want to feel like you really are watching your best friend drown slowly, still balls deep in your grilled cheese sandwich. How would that make you feel?”

“Uh… Bad, probably.”

“Probably ain’t gonna fuckin’ cut it! Alright, everyone break for lunch, our resident hunk has gotta work through some grilled cheese-based emotions and this might take a while. You’re all still getting paid so don’t fuckin’ go anywhere.”

Frustrated, Dave turned to walk away from the set to get himself some food, thanks much, instead nearly walking into a mischievous looking reporter. “Alright, nice, cool. Who the fuck are you and why are you standing between me and my fried chicken?”

“Oh. You mean this, Mr. Strider?” Miraculously, the reporter pulled a nice sized bucket of the chicken from seemingly out of nowhere. Dave cursed under his breath, already too stressed and too tired from dealing with his crew to properly fend off this devilish media fiend. The fiend who, as if reading his mind, revealed a small black recorder in his free hand. “Mind if I ask you a few questions while you get your snack on?”

The thing was, Dave could say no. It was his fucking set, he could do what he wanted. But Dave knew Hollywood, and that the higher up execs were hungry for promotional material, and most of all Dave knew full well that if he didn’t satisfy this sneaky fucker’s demands, he’d go around bugging his set until he got something, no matter how fucking private it should be. And at that point, who knew what he’d end up digging out of Dave’s crew, work weary and disloyal as they were. He sighed, the long-suffering victim of the media’s victim that he was, guiding the reporter to sit with him somewhere a little quieter.

“My name’s John, by the way. John Egbert,” both hands were full, but he shot a toothy grin at Dave anyway, making himself look way younger than he must have been. He was cute, obviously, but Dave was still annoyed he’d been cornered into this situation, offering nothing more than a curt nod, hands shoved very carefully into his pockets to convey how little be cared about the situation.

There was an abandoned set piece over behind the refreshment’s table, an overlarge set of stairs he’d used for an earlier shoot. Now, it served as a quiet place to sit, stretching his legs out as he plucked the chicken right out of John’s hands, grinning smugly as he dug into his reward. “Alright,” he took a bite from one drumstick, wagging it at John, “no questions about mommy issues, daddy issues, or whether or not I’ve taken hard drugs. Got it?”

“Alright, yeah, I can do that,” he watched John drag a long line across his paper, but when he peered over there was nothing written on the page at all, and John shot him another cheeky, mischievous grin. “What, you thought I needed notes? Nope! I’ve been waiting to do this interview for a year!” He held up his recorder at that, and after a moment a red light turned on, a steady glow in the otherwise dim area. “So, anyway. First question. What made you want to start directing?”

“I’m an artistic genius and the funniest person alive. Next.” He abandoned the bone of his first piece of chicken back into the bucket, cementing it as _Dave Chicken_ with his man germs. 

“What, no artistic inspirations?”

“Ben Stiller had a pretty inspiring ass, back in the day.”

“Alright, cool, great. I am just going to publish that then, and we’ll see how it goes.”

Dave shrugged, leaning back, “I told him once, so it ain’t like it’d be a surprise.”

“What, you just go around rating guys asses?” John looked incredulous, and, honestly, a little offended. 

“In my defense, I was drunk off my ass and fresh from the success of my first film. Dude came up to me, what the hell was I supposed to say?”

“Uh, I don’t know! Maybe hello?”

“Man, Egbert, my guy, his pants were so _tight_. Fuck off with that ‘hello’ shit, I couldn’t not say something!”

“So you’re the reason Ben Stiller only wears loose pants now?”

Dave jabbed a finger in his direction at that, “so you have been looking! Fucking hypocrite! But no, it just deflated. Dude lost his youthful vigor and his ass left with it.”

John stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide with disbelief before he finally shook his head, laughing. “Yeah, okay, I’ll believe you! Ben Stiller’s ass deflated because he got old. But what about you, when’s the expiry date on your shapely rump?”

“My shapely rump is—” Dave stopped himself, squinting at John from behind the safety of his trusty Ray Bans. “Now wait just a fucking minute. How in the fresh hell do you know my ass is shapely?”

“Uh, I looked. Duh! And I’m the one giving an interview here!” He grinned, and the twinkle in his eyes had Dave feeling a little more overwhelmed then he wanted to be. 

Dave leaned in, voice lowering, “what the fuck sorta magazine is this anyway?”

“Hmm?” John’s grin only grew, leaning in close, “I could try and shop it to some online publishers, but I was honestly asking for myself. Whiiiiiich reminds me, what other things inspire you?”

The change from unprofessional (and stupidly fucking enticing) to completely normal had Dave reeling, leaning back against the painted wood with a solid ‘thump’. “I, uh. Fuck, I don’t know. I like advertising, the really shitty Bro kind, where everything is all video games and food and stoners without the stone. Taking that aesthetic, you can create some weird things if you amp up the absurd and stop tryina’ play it straight.”

“But the hyper formal costume choices?”

“Could call it a purposeful juxtaposition if I really wanted, but I just ain’t willing to sit here ten hours a day watching people walk around in grubby ass t-shirts and jeans. Got a costume budget for a reason, y’know?”

John nodded agreeably, straining to see the actors lounging around in their nice suits. “Favourite designer?”

“Dolce and Gabbana. Calvin Klein underwear though, hands down. Keep it simple and familiar.”

“…You want me to write that last part down?”

It was Dave’s turn to grin then, slouching confidently, “that one’s just for my new favourite voyeur.” 

They kept going like that for an abysmally long time. At first, Dave really had believed John had a plan, but by the time he was done it became clear there were only two realities: John was a _master_ manipulator, or he was just having a normal ass conversation. Considering it was hard to imagine him—all messy hair and bright smiles as he was—as anything but a normal (if shockingly forward) guy, Dave hedged his bets with the later. 

By the time he actually picked his ass back up off his set, his poor crew was starting to look like a herd of lost animals, all turning to him when he let out a loud whistle. “Alright y’all, time to get this shit on the road so we can go the fuck home and get drunk.” 

He turned back to John as he walked away, blowing an obnoxious little kiss his way, “call my agent to book another interview sometime, why don’t you? Maybe you can shop it to Playboy.”


End file.
